Photo by Cronin Detzz
Photo by Cronin Detzz

wearing your jacket of anger
deploying your umbrella of denial
carrying a briefcase of shame
trudging to work with a stiffened smile

You smother your feelings
with your thermos of hatred
drinking it lustily as it burns your tongue

wondering when, exactly, life slipped sideways
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be

Slip on your leaden shoes
and drag your heartache around
scream inside your head
until you are deafened to love’s sound
Draw the bows from your quiver
aim at your traumatic past
and finally kill your demons

Burn your angry jacket
in the bonfire of vanities

Wear rose colored glasses
and peer into tomorrow
see it embroidered with possibilities

Until at last
through heart-felt gratitude
you can freely run naked
in the satiny, silky present

-poem by Cronin Detzz, 2013



The byzantine way of the ant
is slow and arduous
tedious and treacherous
Marching onward with his grain of food
hoping that he knows the way home

We hear the rain pattering on the roof
while the ant hears ant-sized water droplets
pummeling his armor
flooding his path home

Like a warrior, he marches on
tunneling in the dark, if he must
still carrying his parcel
dodging the horrific cannon balls of rain drops
never losing faith that he can make it home

O! If I had the faith of that ant
pressing on, dodging the difficulties of my life
carrying the parcel of my soul
believing that I am armored and protected
knowing that I am never alone, wherever I roam
and I could, finally at last, reach my beloved home

11/28/13 – Cronin Detzz

Photo copyright David Cobbold
Way of The Ant



At this time of year, my thoughts drift strongly to my dearly departed mother’s birthday, November 12.  She was taken away from us by a drunk driver when she was only 46.  Last year, I started to write a poem for her but writer’s block prevented me from finishing it.

Do you have some poems that, for some indeterminable reason, you were unable to finish?  I have a folder of half-written poems.  This year, I completed “The Golden Door of Dreams” in time for my mother’s birthday.

In honor of overcoming writer’s block, I offer the following poem:



As she opens the secret door

Beautiful light rippled across the floor

“Wake up,” cried Ma, “open your eyes and see

I open the Golden Door of what is and will always be”


“Mother, please come in and speak to me,

Quickly now, before it is too late

Reveal the secrets before you cross

beyond the reach of heaven’s gate”


The golden light glitters

tiny flecks of honey swirling

Ma beckons me to follow

The bedroom is whirling


I stood at the threshold

And slowly opened the door

The whole world disappeared

And the sky became my floor


“Time is an illusion,” she said

“Your life is but a dream

Wake up, my child, to reality

and listen to life’s audible stream”


I reached out, grasping at thin air

hoping to catch an angels’ wing

“She does not see,” a voice boomed

And I could no longer see anything


Once again, I was back in my room

saddened at the end of the angelic show

I wanted to hug my Ma one last time

to hold her tight and never let go


I lay back down and closed my eyes,

imagining that she was there

She swept away the monsters under the bed

kissed my forehead and patted my hair


Now I know that life is a dream within a dream

that time is an illusory focus, a painting that’s brittle

Ma goes downstairs to make coffee and pancakes

and leaves the door open, just a little


Happy birthday, Ma. I miss you – Cronin Detzz 2013

#poem #poetry #writer’s block